She came in late, having been out to dinner with a friend. She is soaking up these final days before leaving for college. Her mother and I were in bed watching five tiny girls and their quest for gold. Her mother had already surrendered to dreams, so she asked if she could watch with me. Only a fool father would deny such a request. So she sprawled across the bed’s foot while I tucked my knees to make room, my motions the olympic event of fathering, allowing her to grow beyond my reach. As she focused on those tiny five girls, I was spellbound at the blossoming young woman at my feet I used to carry in the crook of my arm. How does time fly so high, so fast? Practice, I guess. The breathless commentator finally said “Right now every little girl wants to be one of the final five.” In that golden moment’s wake I could have crumbled, but I kept good form. Practice, I guess. She stood tall, told me good-night-I-love-you, and we then joined her mother in dreams.